The Price
by Grammar Sage
Summary: Power corrupts. Absolute power...


'Kay, ya'll. Before you start this, two warnings. One, this may conflict with some of your opinions and ideas about FFTA, so no suing me. I don't own the game. These are all my ideas.

Secondly, this is a fiction written for a challenge. The flow and such is off, I understand, but that's because of the way I had to write it. Here's a hint: look at the title. Then look at the beginnings of all my paragraphs. If you still can't figure it out, try checking out the forum challenge.

Happy reading, ya'll.

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The night was still in this forest. Quiet birdsong twittered in the huge trees, night animals went about their nightly business. The Salikawood was a peaceful forest glade, a perfect and unpolluted oasis of beautiful-

His foot came down, snapping several twigs. The man wasn't trying to travel quietly. He moved with a purpose through the wood, a single blade gleaming naked in his hand, occasionally chopping at a branch or limb that obstructed his way. His cloak, held in front by a clasp and hanging loosely behind him, was a blue so dark that it appeared to be almost black, fading in with the nightly colors of the forest. His free hand held a glowing torch. The man's hat was pulled back, exposing the scar that ran from forehead to chin, slicing neatly downwards across his left eye. A listener could have heard him mutter to himself, "Almost there, just around this bend-"

Ergo, the man turned the corner around a huge beech tree and smiled. A long road crossed his path. It was out into the forest in both directions until it could no longer be seen, a long slice taken out of the forest scenery. The man nodded. Everything was satisfactory.

Passing through the underbrush with grace that seemed eerie in the darkening woods, he slid down a short ravine and leapt into the forest path. It had now grown quite dark, the kind of dark that was thick and cloudy. A fine mist was beginning to descend over the forest. The whole of Salikawood was beginning to lose the quality of a quiet, nature-filled evening wood to a haunted forest filled with _things_.

Ranton wasn't bothered by _things_. In fact, that was what he was here to find.

In one hand he twirled his saber idly. It would be a mile or so before he reached the encampment, he knew. In the meantime he should prepare himself, get his thoughts in order, be ready for what he was about to learn...

"Certainly a fine night for a walk, kupo." The voice came from behind Ranton, who didn't even bother to turn around. Salikawood was a nice enough place, but the local banditry were rumored to be quite nasty. For a moment he considered running- not because he was disturbed about losing- but to conserve his energy for later. But then again...

"Excellent weather we've been having lately," he replied. "Apart from things getting a bit chilly tonight." Around him he could hear the sounds of the other bandits moving into position. This chat was nothing more than a game, almost a formality. Both parties knew what was going to happen, and both _thought_ they knew what the outcome would be. Ranton stuck his saber into the ground, feigning composure, and blew on his hand to warm it. From what his hearing told him, and his hearing was excellent, there were four bandits- one directly behind him, another positioned farther back behind him, and two more somewhere to his front and to his left.

The unseen voice from behind him moved forward. As might be expected, the owner of the voice was a moogle, a scarred and hardened little Gadgeteer with a sullen expression and dark eyes. "Look, kupo, 's been a long day and quite frankly I'm really tired. Look at this as a kupo opportunity to tell your family about someday. Instead of taking everything you've got and cuttin' yore throat so's we can skat, we'll just take most o' your gil so's you can be on your way. Like a toll, 'kay, kupo?"

"Hardly," replied Ranton, keeping his eyes fixed on the moogle in front of him, twisting the torch in one palm. "I'm afraid I really don't have time for this..."

Elementary reflexes caused him to turn at just the right second. The archer's arrow flew past his face, burying itself in the earth. From somewhere in the shadows a voice cried, "I declare an engagement!"

Plucking his saber out of the ground and spinning sideways, he nibly dodged a blow from the Gadgeteer's bladed glove and hurled the torch toward the voice that had spoken. It blazed a firey arc through the night, and it gave Ranton enough light to see another archer. This one was in front of him, dodging out of the way.

Ranton brought both hands together behind him, concentrating hard. He felt the wild forces of energy pounding through his veins swirl into position and run up his palms... and a shadowy axe, a tomahawk of sorts, materialized in his left hand. He hurled it toward the archer, ignoring the other bandits but continuing his wild spinning manuvers, avoiding blows from all sides. The tomahawk struck his opponent in the face, but instead of blood flowering there was a flash of light and the archer stumbled back, _physically_ unharmed. Ranton grinned and leapt.

In midair, he twisted sideways, landing with his hands on the archer's shoulders and pulling him downwards. Both humans struggled for a moment for footing, and the archer got one hand loose to reach for a knife at his belt. Before the archer could make use of his second weapon, Ranton slammed his knee into the human's stomach and pulled the archer closer to himself with a free hand, _concentrating_...

Crushing pain ripped through the archer's soul. For a moment, Ranton's physique flickered, two images conflicting on his face. One was the triumphant grin of a Blue Mage. The other was the roaring, superhardened face of a Rockbeast, eyes screwed up in concentration and the swordhilt on its forehead glowing horribly.

Emitting one final whimper, the archer collapsed. Dead. Ranton grinned.

The other three bandits had taken this opportunity to close in. Both the Gadgeteer and a Thief moved in, staying close together and fully prepared. Ranton still felt loose, dangerous, hardly worried at all. These bandits were hardly more than a workout. Ranton was no ordinary Blue Mage- he was an experienced, hardened master, dangerous and knowledgable. He had won the Cadoan Color Tournament several times, and even trained the only other mage he had met that had been able to beat him. He had spent years mastering every aspect of the Blue Mage abilities, though he had discarded some. He certainly had no intention of losing.

His saber came down in a golden, glowing sweep. The Gadgeteer blocked his Harpe and caught the blade in between the blades of his glove, twisting and trying to force the weapon out of Ranton's hand. The Thief came toward his side, knife swinging downwards.

Except for Ranton's superior skill, he would have been skewered then and there. But as the Thief's blade descended, he switched from a two to a one-handed grip on his saber and reached up with his right hand. He held his forearm out as a shield, forcing magic into the flesh. The knife stabbed him straight through the wrist and out the other side. But Ranton felt no stabbing, ripping pain in his wrist, only a deeper sense of injury inside him. His magic had taken this hit for him.

Pressing harder on the moogle in front of him, he forced the Gadgeteer backwards. The thief staggered back, weaponless- the knife was still embedded in Ranton's arm, who, noticing it, and flung it away disdainfully into the darkness. The thief turned to run, and Ranton put his hand to his mouth, blowing through a hole he made with his fingers. Green gas spewed out and wrapped around the fleeing bandit's body. There was a gasp and a pop of inrushing air, and instead of a young human there was a frog, rolling on the ground and vomiting.

Ranton stamped heavily on the amphibian, and turned to the moogle. The tiny Gadgeteer stared at him with horror-filled eyes.

"I didn't mean to- I mean, honest, kupo, we could just- if you want to-" the moogle sputtered. "I mean, please, could you just-"

_Choom_. Ranton held both palms in front of him, using one of his favorite spells. Holy fire gathered in his outstretched hands. The moogle stumbled backwards, turned to run. Ranton merely smirked, finished the spell, sent the Meteorite blast straight into the back of the moogle's head. The scream echoed momentarily.

Even as he finished the spell another arrow whistled through the night. It caught Ranton off guard as he finished decimating the Gadgeteer's burning body and buried itself through his shin. The pain tore through his body, and Ranton growled under his breath and locked the agony away in a small corner of his mind.

The Blue Mage squinted through the dark. Nothing.

He spun awkwardly again, dodging the second arrow that slammed into the ground. Whoever was shooting at him knew their business. And he couldn't just keep spending magic like it was water. Curse it, he wouldn't be able to outrun an archer like this, and as soon as he moved into a light spot he'd make a prime target. He had a bad hand here and his opponent knew it.

Extra magic flowed through his body. When fate dealed you a bad hand, Ranton knew, it was time to cheat.

Power surged through his arms. He held them above his head, dark blue light shining through his cupped fists. Another arrow shot past him, grazing his arm. Another couple seconds and he'd be dead...

Ranton closed his eyes and concentrated for a moment on the darkness and silence of his surroundings. A feeling of terrible, expressionless, suffocating _peace_ swept over him and he released the wave of magic into the air. Tendrils of magic swept out over the field, mixing with the misty night.

He grinned as he heard a small gasp from somewhere in the trees, and then a thump. He limped quietly through the darkness and found himself in front of a grove of low trees. At the foot of one a Vieran sniper was sleeping, having fallen out of the tree as the Night spell found her.

Instead of merely cutting her throat, Ranton picked up her heavy greatbow and inexpertly nocked an arrow. He grunted as he pulled the thick string back.

_Twang._

He grinned to himself, and noted how deeply the arrow had sunk through the sniper's ear. Quite a powerful bow, that.

Electrical, tingling magic flowed around Ranton's body. He felt his magical soul recharge, fill back up with power, and saw the arrow disappear from his leg and the wound expertly seal itself shut. The arrow through the skull of the Sniper in front of him disintegrated and reappeared in her quiver while the wound shrank into oblivion. All around Ranton the dead, squashed, burned or stabbed bandits became simply sleeping bandits, their respective weapons and equipment reappearing by their sides.

Pain no longer hampering his movements, Ranton reached over with his sabre and cut the string of the greatbow with a flick of his wrist. No sense being followed by a revenge-bent sniper once she woke up. He cut her purse strings and dumped the gil into his own pouch, then tossed the empty wallet back.

Ranton noted that the moon was just starting to rise up over the horizon. Perfect.

It was time to start what he had come here for...

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_Clink. Clink._

Extraneous gil, his belt. His wallet. His pack. All his herb bundles and almost all of his jewelry, not that there was much of that. His set of house keys, the little silver pendant that he wore around his neck. After thinking for a moment, Ranton slipped his saber out of its sheath and dropped the sheath onto the growing pile. Finally his hat was set gently on top of the stack of possessions and quietly dusted off.

The Blue Mage straightened. If anything he looked more menacing than before, with all extra weight slung off his body and black-haired head bare to the moonlight. He was even more intimidating if the watcher had seen his past performance against the banditry and the loose, dangerous way he was holding his body.

However, the watchers who were currently observing him were never intimidated. By anything.

Ever so slowly, Ranton walked forward. He passed from the dense, tall group of trees he had been hiding in and stepped out into the clearing.

Perhaps the clearing had originally been hewn by spirit master viera, as was the legend. Or maybe the gods had really struck eighteen stones with holy fire and caused them to move into the odd, roughly-hewn triple circle that sat on top of the bare hill in the middle of the darkest part of the Salikawood, as the priests explained to anyone who would listen.

Ranton was not interested in the least at the mythology of the clearing. He knew what it was used for _now_.

It might have been possible to notice the merest shake of his knees as he crossed the hill, exposed in the moonlight. His eyes were filled with determination, and quite a lot of cautious fear. But still, he knew he would never be able to rest until he'd tried this. It was the ultimate challenge. The mark in history that he'd always been dying to make.

Champion Blue Mage Ranton "Beastblade" stepped into the circle.

Eventually his walk brought him to the very center of the triple circle, where there lay a stone slab. A simple stone slab, without any decorative markings or grooves in the rock. Were it anywhere else it would have been simply another part of the forest.

The watchers had been moving, slowly but very, very surely, toward where Ranton stood. Now one or two of them crossed out of the cover of the woodland and began shuffling up the hillside. The Blue Mage locked his gaze on them, turning slowly to try and keep as many of them in sight as possible.

He gripped the ring around his fingers for reassurance.

Every survival instinct told him to run. He was running out of time. By the time he was surrounded it was over, absolutely over, without the merest glimmer of a chance. He had to move _now..._

Perhaps Ranton was a fool, as many called him later. But he stood his ground and watched as the Tonberrys made their laborious way up the hill and stood, one by one by one, around the circle.

Ranton could hear their wheezy, labored breathing echo around the stone. His eyes were drawn to the hands- or blades- that every Tonberry had on their right arm, the smooth flesh contorting horribly into a long, bloodstained, clawlike iron blade. Some of the Tonberry's left hands held lanterns high into the air. The light did nothing to help matters- it simply illuminated their wretched faces.

It was the Tonberry's eyes that showed their power. Many monsters had eyes full of powerful rage, or homicidal mania, or pure power. Some monsters were strong and magical enough to strike you petrified with a look. But looking into a Tonberry's eyes was like watching the torture of a child, or the horrible death of some small innocent creature. You saw all the wretched evil and pain in the world, twisted and fused into a small core that was hammered through your brain and into your soul.

Channeled through the eyes of the Masterberry was pure pain.

Even with the burning stares of almost a dozen Tonberrys fixated on his body, Ranton never faltered. He was feeling almost cheerful now. He'd gone through fear and out the other side, and was possessed with a sort of dangerous mania.

The lead Masterberry raised his lantern searchingly, the tattered clothing and thick rags that bound his body hanging down off of his outstretched arm. The lanterns that Masterberry's carried were supposed to be able to illuminate all evil, searching for victims with the greatest guilt on their hearts. The melted, greenish face turned towards Ranton.

He could see the question, even in the contorted features of a Masterberry. "Yes," he replied. "I defy you. I stand in the most sacred of your places with only myself, and I defy you."

Even the sky seemed to darken with these words. Every Tonberry around the circle, moving with a horrible purpose, took a heavy step forward. And another. And another.

_Power,_ thought Ranton. _Think of the power if you succeed. Concentrate._ Out loud, he said, "I know your secrets. I've been watching you, studying you. I'm getting what I came for. I know what nights you meet at, how you sacrifice the souls of those you have killed. I know your tactics, your abilities."

Ranton couldn't help but quall slightly as the Tonberrys came closer, their bodies outlined in hellish haloes by the lanterns in the mist. "I know about the circle. Eighteen stones. Three rings of six. Six six six. You think that your dark voodoo will always get you your victory?"

It was one of the most horribly frightening things about the Tonberrys that they never ran. They walked. Slowly. And they never stopped.

"Can you trust completely in your power? You gave up your humanity for this. Will it do you any good?"

Every step they took echoed. Every head was turned toward Ranton, every expressionless gaze turned toward his body. The Tonberry's contorted features grew close.

The Blue Mage spun his saber around his wrist for a moment, and smiled grimly.

"Here we go."

Even as he leapt forward, he called out the words "I declare an engagement!" and a judge appeared with a quiet clap of displaced air on the center of the stone slab. The Blue Mage landed his leap, saber cutting cleanly through the air with an aura of magic around it. The Tonberry in his way shuddered and ground to slow time, moving as though the air had solidified to thick mud around its body. But still the enormous knife-hand came up, cutting air as Ranton stepped back and sliced his saber down as hard as possible on the outstretched arm.

Possibly Tonberry skin is incredibly tough, but they are unexplainably resilient against pain. The cut bit deep into the flesh and possibly into the bone but the Tonberry continued to try and attack with the mangled arm, swinging in slow motion as the fleeting figure of the Blue Mage.

Ranton came toward the next Tonberry at a dead run. _Take them out one by one, and don't let one get behind you. Don't try and kill them, they've got hides like rockbeasts, just cripple them enough to make them desperate and move on. You've only got one chance. Don't die yet._ Just before he would have made contact and been haplessly skewered by the killer knife, he dropped and slid on his thin cotton shirt across the slick grass and patches of stone, twisting and flinging himself directly between the monster's legs. He hacked with the saber at whatever might be under the folds of cloth between the stubby appendages and then cut it across the back with another Hastebreak. The second Tonberry turned into a barely moving statue, and Ranton forced magic into his hands just long enough to force them into acid-dripping claws and lay ten long scratches down the back of the huge beast.

Instead of trying the same tactic with any of the remaining Tonberrys Ranton simply spun around backwards, leaping onto the table and laying out with his saber to give his magic time to rejuvenate. The judge hopped off and stationed himself next to one of the large rock pillars as Ranton swung several times with the long, reddish-gold sword and then managing to keep the several smaller Tonberrys back long enough to raise both hands above his head and release a Night spell into the misty air. Only two Tonberrys were affected, and of these two one slumped to the ground only to get up again in a moment, but the other crumpled against a pillar and didn't move.

Crushing the fingers of one with a boot and leaping over the heads of two of the oncoming slayers, Ranton stepped away from the frenzy for a moment to consider his position. He was doing incredibly well for a single man, that is, in the face of impossible odds, his impossibility was slightly less impossible than it had seemed before. Yet he knew that the moment his magic ran out and stopped affecting the few Tonberrys that he had either Slowed, poisoned, put to sleep or maimed, the battle would be extraordinarily and lethally short-lived. He was already running at half power. His magic had had to sustain a massive cut across his chest, which, had it struck his body instead of his soul, would have punctured a lung and ended the fight in moments. He needed to make his move now.

Energy rippled out from his body as he released a Meteor into the path of the oncoming few. It was only a matter of time, he knew, until he would die. It took too long to completely kill a Tonberry, and the moment one caught up to him unprepared... Ranton pushed the thought out of his mind. He hadn't trained for years to die here.

The Blue Mage leapt backwards, away from the group of Tonberrys who were now collected together and shuffling toward him, never pausing or halting or changing pace, led by a haggard lantern-bearer. He pulled his knees up and over and landed in a staggering backwards jog, pulling up to hide behind a pillar. The Tonberrys shuffled slowly on.

He saw the light just a nanosecond before the Masterberry struck, which saved his life. The monster had raised its lantern for full visibility before swinging its knife toward him, giving him just enough time to throw himself full-length on the ground. He rolled to the side- the titanic knife blade shattered the stone next to him- and rolled into a crouch. One must have shown up later than usual to the meeting. Well, that worked just fine...

Excitement pulsed through his veins. _It was time..._

Pain flickered along his soul as the Masterberry turned its twisted face toward him, looking him directly in the eyes, and shuffled forward.

Ranton twisted in midair, summoning all the power he could into his hands. The Twister barreled through the Masterberry, who failed to even check its pace. His Meteor struck it full in the chest, and though the worn and ruined cloak the Masterberry was wearing charred away and left a blackened scorch along its chest, it never slowed. Then Ranton's hands burst into reddened claws and sank deep into the monster's chest...

It was a powerful enough blow that the Tonberry halted for a moment, rocking on its own momentum. But a Tonberry is heavy and has strong momentum, and it pulled up the knife blade on its arm to strike the Blue Mage who was still pumping poison into its chest.

_Charred flesh. Poison. Burns. Cuts. Pain. The creature was horribly hurt, dying, and it lashed out in the best way it knew how..._

Energy crackled down the blade for one brief moment. The knife went into Ranton's neck, slicing through his bone and tissue and actually emerging out the other side. There was a moment of complete, utter silence, as if the world had been suddenly muted. Ranton was hurdled back-

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_There was a sensation of darkness._

_He screamed and arched his back, his voice whistling around the blade still buried through his throat. But there was nothing to break the silence that had taken over his world._

_Electric pain arched through every vein in his body, worse pain than any he had ever felt. Agony racked his mortal body and crackled into the very recesses of his inner soul._

_Pain more terrible than it seemed possible to feel was tormenting him through all sides, and then he was falling. Falling through the hole in his soul into the darkest pit of hell._

_Ranton was seeing images. Flashes of his life, of his death, and of faces. Many faces. Faces of so many-_

_Instead of blurred images flickering through his vision, Ranton now seemed to be seeing an image solidify before his metaphorical eyes. His soul was still burning in utter agony and he was still unable to cry out..._

_Candles. Six candles, all around his body. Six candles, burning in a circle. Ranton suddenly felt comforted by their warm, aided by their friendly glow. The torment grew less, faded away. But still..._

_**Endless halls of pain...**_

_The Entity flickered into vision before his soul. There was a moment's image of a rotten skull... of a bloodied eye... of a grinning mouth... of a sharpened edge._

_**He screamed again, one final time, as a breath like the angel of death rattled out from the bones of the Thing in front of him...**_

_End here Ranton's life, as the chill shade of Death himself blew out the candles._

_Pain took over. _

_Ranton fell._

_It passed for one moment, through his mind no longer limited by the bonds of sanity due to the indescribable agony racking his soul, that something had gone wrong in his plan. He had died. He was going to die. It was all wrong. Something should have-_

Caught him.

_Extreme pain..._ was gone.

The agony dissipated. The wings of an angel were holding him, lifting him up through the dark tunnel. There was a light up ahead. Holy power shone through his renewed self.

_He reached the top._

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Energy held him in the air for one brief second. Holy light shone out from the Blue Mage's eyes, and for a second, the shining mirage of a pair of white wings materialized on either side of him.

Present time returned.

Ranton looked down for one brief moment in intense gratitude toward his right hand, where the Angel Ring finished pumping the last of its strength into him and then shattered.

In front of him, the Masterberry was staring at him in obvious consternation. In its experience, nobody ever survived Voodoo. Voodoo was not something that could _be _survived.

Channeling the experience into his mind, Ranton reached into his heart with a grip that he had practiced countless times in his career as a Blue Mage.

Excellent...

The spell was there. _He had done it. HE HAD DONE IT!_ And now the Masterberry had obviously come to grips with its dilemna, and stepped foward, blade before it. Ranton grinned, triumph welling deep, and reached for his saber.

He swung just before the Masterberry reached him. The blade barely even grazed the monster, and, in normal circumstances, it would have been a very suicidal (and brief) ploy. But then...

_Energy crackled through the blade as Ranton concentrated..._

Power surged through his body, held him on tiptoe, and then released. He felt the dark tide well through him and pass into the Masterberry's body.

Ranton shuddered as through his vision flickered the same dark tunnel he had seen before, the candles, the hideous entity behind it all, but this time it passed in seconds. Then the Masterberry slumped backwards, its soul destroyed completely. Ranton smiled...

_I've learned your best trick._

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Holy _crap_, it takes a long time to write chapters this way.

Okay. Originally, I had intended for this to be a oneshot fiction. But then I realized I couldn't possibly do justice to the plot idea unless I moved on and made it longer, so I decided that I wanted to put this into two or three parts. Good thing I did, too, because at this rate it'll take me until I'm three hundred and five to finish this blasted thing and thus nobody will ever be forced to read it.

Hope nobody minds my unneccessarily short chapter/prologue thing. Happy reading, and drop a quick review on your way out. The button commands you. Review or it will steal your soul and drop it down the toilet.

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